This was the first she'd been allowed out of the house in weeks and she relished the cold air against her cheeks, the caress of the snow as it wafted down. The scent of the woods around her was a heady aroma, a smell of freedom to the poor girl who was always too busy working to play. She had her stepmother, Constance, to care for, and her two stepsisters and stepbrother who expected their needs catered to as well.
She kicked her feet under her heavy skirts, feeling the crunch of the autumn leaves under the thin layer of snow. The basket on her arm swung wildly as she danced and skipped along, narrowly avoiding spilling its contents on the path more than once. Her cheeks grew rosy, a far cry from their normal pale hue, her eyes danced and sparkled with blue lights as she enjoyed herself. She hummed merrily, bowing and turning in time to her lively tune.
Only when the lights of the house came into view did she sober. She straightened her second hand gown, a hand-me-down from her stepsister, Candace, and one that was grudgingly given. It fit awkwardly, despite Danielle's dexterity with a needle, finding time for mending and altering her own clothing was almost impossible. Just as the dress was too big, so were her shoes, given to her by her other stepsister, Arabella.
Danielle's pretty nose wrinkled as she thought of her sisters. Two more horrid human beings had never existed. She bore bruises from their sly pinches and kicks, and was always careful to watch her step around them as they never failed to try and trip her as she carried heavy trays and baskets. They were sneaky and sly, with voices that reverberated through the manor house that had been her father's. Now, that he was dead, it belonged to her stepmother and she was treated as a servant.
Her stepmother and sisters were bad, but none was as bad as her stepbrother, David. She was afraid of him, deathly afraid. He watched her with eyes that stripped her of her clothing and laid bare her loveliness. He hovered near until a sharp order from her stepmother would send him on his way. He'd try to see her in her bath or catch her in her bed. She'd hidden a knife under her mattress and used a chair to bar the door to her room. But still he'd come around, scratching quietly so as not to awaken his mama. He'd call her name softly through the door until she would cover her head with her one miserly pillow to block out the sound of his whiny voice.
If it weren't for her family, life would be pleasant. She didn't mind the work she was given to do. The manor house was beautiful, the staff of servants still employed by her stepmother, old and frail. She loved caring for the lush furnishings and marble floors. She hoed and picked, weeded and trimmed the gardens without a peep of a complaint. She woke every morning with a smile upon her face, even though it usually was to her stepmother's shrill voice, calling to her to do some chore.
Danielle kicked at a small clump of weeds and hurried faster, knowing she was going to be called upon the carpet to explain her lateness. Even such punishments as beating the rugs was not going to spoil her enjoyment of the freshness of this wonderful night.
As she hurried to the side entrance, she saw the see sawing lights of a carriage come through the wide front gates and pull up next to the long stairs that led to the front door. Knowing the lateness of the hour gave her pause as to what visitor could be calling and in such a fancy rig with high stepping horses. She strained to see as the steps were pulled from the side of the coach and a man, a hulking misshapen shadow of a man, stepped from inside. His gait was uneven, his steps unsteady at first until he reached the door.
She saw him reach for the brass knocker that hung from the huge oak door and hurried inside the servants entrance, knowing she would be called upon to bring refreshments.
"Matilda?" she called softly as she reached the kitchen. The woman who turned was small and scrawny, but tough and had been cook here at the manor for more years than Danielle had been alive.
"Yes, Miss Danielle?"
"We have guests." She placed the basket down on the table and took off her tattered cloak, hanging it by the fireplace. Grabbing the heavy cloths, she pulled out the big kettle from the flames where it was kept hot and poured the water into the silver tea pot. She added the tea to let it steep and then started pulling out the other things that she knew her stepmother would want.
When James, the major domo, came to the kitchen, the tea things were ready and Danielle had taken a few minutes to straighten herself up.
"Miss Danielle?"
"Yes, James. I have the tea ready."
"No, Miss. No tea. They just want you."
Danielle looked up confused, but as was her way, she straightened her skirt once more, smoothed down her wildly tumbled curls and hurried to the sitting room.
They were all gathered there, her stepsisters sitting smugly together on the tiny loveseat, her stepbrother posing in front of the roaring fire. Her stepmother held court, sitting in the big leather wingchair that had been Danielle's father's favorite. And off in the corner, just out of the bright light of the lamps, was the shadowy figure of the stranger.
The stepsisters were pretty, Candace, the oldest was the more attractive with an intelligent if not malicious gleam in her eyes. She was blonde and fair, with creamy skin and blue eyes that showed no kindness towards anyone or anything, even her sister. Arabella, the baby at eighteen, was heavier, her hair lacking the brightness of her sister's, her skin more rosy. She was still pretty but would always stand in the shadow of Candace. And she lacked the shrewdness of her sister.
David was tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. But his chin was weak and his manner petulant. He wore the latest of styles upon his lean frame and made the girls blush at any of the holiday balls he attended. But he was mean and cruel, never extending a helping hand. He demanded, he never asked. He always expected to be given things, Danielle being one of those things.
Danielle hurried toward her stepmother and gave a graceful curtsey. "You wished to see me, Ma'am?" She stood with her hands folded in front of her, seeming serene but inside her heart was racing.
"I've done you a good turn tonight, Danielle. A turn that, I hope, you will respect and thank me for." The older woman turned her still beautiful face towards the shadowed corner. "This is the girl, sir. Is it still your wish?"
The figure gave a slight nod and then turned away from the gathering, staring outside the mullioned panes of glass at the dimly lit gardens below. Reflected in the light from the room, he could see not only his own image but that of the girl's, Danielle's. She was breathtaking with her long dark curls and huge eyes in such a tiny heart shaped face. He felt his pulse speed up at the thought of what this transaction would mean to him, and to her, he thought, a wry and not oft seen smile touching the side of his scarred mouth.
"Should I explain, then?" He gave another nod and watched Danielle in the window to gauge her reaction.
"Danielle, this is Lord Christopher St. John. He has asked for your hand tonight and I have gracefully accepted for you. You will be married in the morning and leave with him as soon as the ceremony is done." The evil woman stared in satisfaction at the girl, watching the beautiful face fall as she tried to grasp what she had been told.
"You... you've sold me, haven't you?" Danielle felt her knees weaken and she turned to stare at the misshapen lump that she was expected to wed.
"Oh, yes, Danielle. I did. For a very good bride price." There was a gloat in her voice that sent sparks flying in Danielle's eyes.
"I won't do it." Danielle felt herself start to shake. "I will not do it. My father told me that I would be allowed to marry for love, not sold on the market like so much flesh." She stared into the cruel brown eyes of her stepmother. Pleading words sprang to her lips but one look at those assembled and she knew they would be, if not ignored, laughed at.
She started to back away and then turned to run, only to find herself held tightly in a pair of male arms. She looked up and into the face of her stepbrother, seeing the evil leer he gave her as he stared down the front of her gown. She stomped her heel down upon his foot and heard him cry out before giving him a huge shove that knocked him over.
Then she was rushing towards the door. One word seemed to blaze through her mind. Escape. She had to escape. She'd rather freeze to death then marry someone she didn't know, someone she didn't love. She turned the handle on the door, felt it open and was about to rush through when her hair was caught in a fist and she was yanked backwards. She fell against her stepbrother and he raised his fist, furious at being made a fool of.
Danielle felt the blow to her jaw vibrate through her, the pain rushing like a lightning bolt to her brain and then nothing.
She didn't hear the roar that came from the one in the corner or see his stumbling graceless race across to her. She didn't feel him kneel next to her, pushing the silken hair from her face or the way his long, slender fingers carefully probed the swelling bump on her jaw line. Nor did she feel him pick her up, rising awkwardly with her in his arms to carry her upstairs where he was shown her room.
She might not have run if she'd seen the gentleness and care in his brown eyes, the sorrow he felt that she had been hurt on his account or the rage he felt at the family of nitwits below that had so damaged this frail and lovely creature.
~~~~~~
When she woke, she was alone upon her own bed, her jaw aching, her head ringing. She sat up, noting that her gown had been removed as well as the too large shoes. She let her head fall to her hands as she remembered the events of the evening. The joy she had felt at being outside once more vanished as if it had never existed. Instead, dread filled her as she thought of the uncertainness of her future.
She would have to leave the manor, she would have to escape, tonight. She turned and stood, the room spinning dizzily around her for a moment before righting itself. She hurried to the small wardrobe that housed her every worldly possession.
Her mouth gaped open in astonishment as she opened the doors. Gone. All of it. Even the small box that she used to hold her few trinkets and memories had been taken. She stared down at the thin shift she wore, one that was old and often washed until almost threadbare. It did little more than provide a thin veil over her firm breasts and slender waist. It even hinted at the silky pelt of curls that graced her woman's mound.
She couldn't escape in this. She stared at the bed, ready to pull off the blankets and wear those. But they too had been taken, leaving her with nothing, not even a sheet. Her cry of rage and despair echoed in the bare room and she sank down upon her heels on the floor. How long she sat there, her eyes vacant as no thoughts would come to her battered brain, she didn't know. She did know that she was cold, the room icy without a fire in the small grate. She wasn't allowed coal or wood to burn for heat, that being used elsewhere in the massive manor. Nights like these, she would take her blankets and curl up next to the fire in the kitchen that was kept burning all night long.
She hugged herself, trying to find warmth by rubbing her hands over her bare arms and tried to think of what to do.
Before she could string two thoughts together, the door opened. Danielle looked up, expecting to see her stepmother. She was appalled and terrified to see David, smiling down at her evilly as he turned and clicked the key into the lock, slipping it into the pocket of his waistcoat.
Danielle stood, shielding her breasts with her arms, backing away from him slowly.
"What...what do you want?" she asked, her voice quivering from cold and fear.
"Tonight's my last night to have you, girl. I'm going to be sending you to that scarred bastard minus your virginity." He laughed cruelly. "I wonder what he'll say to you this time tomorrow night when he finds out that you aren't the pure, sweet thing he paid for." He lunged towards her and Danielle turned to flee, putting the bed between the two of them.
She shrieked as he jumped over the mattress and caught her, wrapping her hair around his fist to hold her in place while she kicked and hit at him.
"No! Don't touch me!" Her fist connected and she heard him curse before he flung her away from him and onto the bed. She tried to scramble up, but the shift caught under her, tripping her and ripping the delicate fabric across her breasts.
And then he was on her. He pulled at the fabric, ripping it further to expose all of the full curves of her breasts to his lewd gaze. His thick, fleshy tongue came out and licked along his lower lip, trailing a line of drool down upon her skin.
Danielle cried out again, her fisted hands pushing at David. But, despite his lean form, he was strong and heavy and she couldn't move him. She felt his hands upon her breasts, squeezing and twisting the firm flesh. He found her nipples with his fingers, tweaking them as they stood hard and proud in the cold air of the room. He pulled and twisted one hard, making her scream in pain as his lips came down upon hers, muffling the sound with his mouth.
She tasted him, the brandy he had partaken of, the cigar that tasted of stale tobacco on his tongue as he pushed it into her mouth. She tried to bite him, her teeth narrowly missing their mark. He slapped her then, purposefully hitting her already bruised jaw and causing pain to make the room swim foggily around her. Cold air touched the rest of her skin as he finished ripping her shift off her no longer fighting body. He rolled to the side, confident in her defeat, to play with the sleek skin he had exposed.
His fingers trailed lightly over her nipples, plucking at them as she moaned in pain. His hand smoothed over the skin of her flat stomach, teased over the sensitive flesh below her navel. He pushed her thighs apart, stroking the soft skin of her mound, the tempting softness of her nether lips. Parting those same lips, her pushed one finger into her dry flesh, cruelly adding another to force her open further.
Danielle cried out in pain again as she felt him touching her where no one had before. She pushed at his arm, her nails digging into skin to rip as she surfaced from the pain dragging her under. She struggled to pull herself away from him, kicking and closing her thighs, trying to push his hand out of her.
David grabbed her hair with one hand and wrapped the other around her throat, slowly squeezing until she could see white lights sparking in front of her eyes.
"Lay still, wench. I will have you tonight." He panted in her face as he reached down to unfasten the front of his breeches. Pushing her legs apart, he positioned himself between them, inching forward until she could feel a hard shaft probing at her tender flesh. She screamed again, the sound harsh and hard as it burned throat muscles abused at his hands.
"David!"
Danielle had never found her stepmother's shrill voice so sweet. She rolled to her side, using her shift to cover her nakedness as David got up to face his mother, his once mighty cock now limp flesh hanging outside his breeches.
"Go to your room, David!"
His mouth pursed in a sulk, David stalked from the room. A slamming down the hall resounded through the house as his door reverberated behind him.
"You enticed him again, did you not, Missy. I should have let him take you but Lord Christopher wants a virgin." She paced beside the bed, the large ring of keys jingling in her hands, her nightclothes flapping around her voluptuous body. "Stand up, girl. Stand up and let's see what damage has been done to you."
Danielle stood, shaking. She clasped the shift to her body, trying to hide her nakedness behind the ripped material. Her legs felt weak, her heart still raced with fear. Her throat hurt from where David had squeezed and she knew it was probably bruised. And she felt strange inside, almost sick at the thought of what had almost happened to her.
"Some powder perhaps and we'll just have to keep the draperies in the parlor closed during the ceremony. Lord Christopher won't suspect a thing." She delicately tapped a finger against one rouged cheek as she looked over the frightened girl. "Drop your hands, missy. Let's see."
Danielle did as she was told, knowing not to do so would end up with her being whipped or worse. The sides of the shift spread open and revealed her lovely slender lines and full curving breasts to the contemptuous gaze of her stepmother.
Constance reached out and traced the red welts left by David's bruising fingers. "Well, hmmm." She shook her head. "No matter, just make sure he blows out the candles before bedding you tomorrow night." A light laugh escaped her. "Looking at him, I would imagine you'd want them blown out anyway. Men are mostly the same in the dark, with their rutting and depravities. Women are just forced to endure." She sighed dramatically, bring a lace trimmed handkerchief to her nose and mouth.
"Stepmother, why are you doing this?" Danielle's mouth quivered as she tried to suppress her tears. Constance would enjoy making her cry. "I work hard for you. I do whatever you ask. Why are you selling me to that awful man?"
An airy chuckle escaped the wicked woman. "Why? You ask me why?" She pulled the handkerchief through her fingers and then twisted it in rage. "Because I am tired of looking at you day in and day out. Because I want you gone so that I may marry off my own lovely girls. Because I know you have bewitched my son and I won't have him bedding the likes of you. Because I will get money, lots of beautiful money for you. But," and she paused dramatically, "mostly, because I can. Now close that shift and come with me."
Danielle spent the rest of the night a prisoner in her stepmother's bower, under the watchful eye of Constance's own personal servant, Jane, a hideous, withered crone who thought her mistress could do no wrong. She skulked in the shadows, her eyes bright and beady as she stared at the frightened and bruised girl. All the while, she made snide and coarse comments on what marriage would be like to a man as disfigured as Lord Christopher.
By morning's first light, Danielle was tearful and scared, ready to run if given the least chance. Constance seemed to guess this and made sure that one or another of the servants was with Danielle throughout the early morning. She was bathed and perfumed, her hair washed and curled, swept up in the newest of styles. A gown had been delivered, a pale rose silk that had her stepsisters all agog. They fingered the delicate material, traced the intricate stitching and murmured over it's lovely color before it was taken from them and delivered to Danielle.
She was laced into her first corset, an unfamiliar and distressing occurrence as it was pulled ever tighter around her middle. Then the gown was carefully lowered over her head and done up the back, fitting as if made for her and her alone. The corset pushed her breasts up, filling the low bodice of the dress with an amazing amount of her cleavage. Danielle stared at herself in the mirror, feeling a blush color her cheeks warmly. She'd never felt more exposed in front of people before in her life.
Constance swept into the room, clapping her hands to chase away the servants. She circled her stepdaughter, eyeing the fragile beauty with a look of disdain and haughty contempt. "I suppose you'll do, but I never would have thought that color for a wedding dress. Well, no matter. Your bridegroom has arrived along with the minister."
Danielle shook with terror at the thoughts of what awaited her. She allowed herself to be pulled out of the room even though her mind screamed at her to fight, to run away. But where could she run to, who would help her? She knew no one, had no friends but the servants here at the manor.
She was pulled through the door way to the main parlor, her steps dragging. Ahead of her, she could see her groom standing in front of another man who was whispering something in his ear. Daylight was less complimenting then darkness to his hulking form. From behind, he had broad shoulders narrowing to a fit waist and trim hips, but there was something wrong with his right leg, it seemed almost twisted underneath the cloth of his breeches. His right hand was gloved, his left bare. When he turned toward her, she saw the side of his face and caught her breath.
His face was handsome, his mouth full and generous. He had brown eyes under black brows that arched onto a broad forehead. His hair was that same deep black, the color of a raven's wing as the sun caught it in flight. Her heart stuttered in her chest for a moment and she let herself be led to him. He took her hand in his bare one, his fingers warm and steady under her cold and trembling ones.
She saw his full face for the first time, a well made leather mask covering the entire left side. There was a cut out for his eye and another for that side of his mouth and nose, but then the mask went back into his hair, covering even his ear on that side of his face. A strap went around his neck and buckled to the other side, holding it securely in place.
It didn't scare her, this mask or the look of bitterness she saw in the beautiful brown eyes. She didn't feel pity for the man, as she knew some would.
But she did feel pain and a kind of horror that anyone would be forced to bear something that terrible as the burns that had so hideously scarred his flesh. He saw her look and cringed from what he thought was pity. He turned from her, escaping her searching eyes as he pulled her forward and stood in front of the minister.
Within minutes it was done, she was no longer a servant in the home of her stepmother, a home that used to be her own, now she was the wife of Lord Christopher St. John. When the minister called for a kiss of promise between them, she turned her head, feeling his warm lips upon her cheek. Then he took her hand in his and placed it upon her arm, turning her toward the assembled guests. She felt the disappointment in him, and worried over it. If she were a disappointment to him already, what would her new life bring?
She watched as papers were signed and money exchanged hands. The minister left and David came up to Danielle, a sneer on his face. "My dear sister," he began, enunciating the word. "You've managed to snare yourself a husband. And what a brute he is." He looked over her shoulder to where Lord Christopher was flexing his hand inside it's leather glove.
David took Danielle's arm, leading her a few steps away from those gathered around the minister. "I wanted to warn you, my dear. I know, what happened last night was a shock to your senses but I was trying to save you from this." His hand swept out, making a huge gesture around the room. "I can't save you now, Mama stopped that last night. But I can warn you." He leaned closer until he was whispering into Danielle's ear. "You are not his first bride, nor his second. Both of them, young girls not much older than you, committed suicide, my dear, driven to it by the horrors of their marriage bed."
Danielle gasped, and looked up into the concerned face of her stepbrother. Mistrust, confusion and then fear ran rampant across her face. "This is not a rumor or some way of getting even, is it David?"
He put his hand over his heart, his face taking on the mien of shock and disappointment that she would even ask. "My dear stepsister, I do this out of love and concern for your welfare. I wanted to warn you, to give you a chance to prepare for what is sure to come."
Indecision was stamped on her features. Her heart thudded in her breast. What was to come tonight? Even after last night, she still wasn't completely sure of the part she played in the wedding bower. Would he touch her as David had? Would he bruise her skin, force himself upon her with beastly intentions? Would she survive it?
"Danielle?" the rough gravely voice of her husband called to her. She took one last look at David, peering into his eyes to see if she could spot deceit before turning to go to the man who held his hand out to her. His eyes asked questions that she had no answer for so she bowed her head demurely, accepting his help with the heavy black cloak he laid on her shoulders.
She didn't say good bye to her stepfamily, but she did stop and say a word to each of the servants, to Matilda and James and to her own dear Abigail who had raised her almost as one of her own from the moment Danielle's mother had passed away when she was but twelve. There were tears in the woman's eyes, tears of sorrow and fear for her tiny mistress.
And then she was out the wide oak doors of the manor and being helped into the confined space of the coach. She settled herself on one of the wide seats and then felt the coach shift as her new husband hoisted himself inside. He seated himself next to her spreading the thick heavy fur robe over both of their laps then tapped on the top of the coach with his cane. With a lurch, they were off.
Danielle looked through the tiny window in the back of the coach and watched as the only home she had ever known grew smaller until it finally disappeared from sight.
~*~
Chapter Two
The ride to her new home was mostly silent as each was lost in their own thoughts. Danielle's thoughts were fearful and worrisome, her stepbrother's parting words giving her reason to pause. She refused to look at the man sitting next to her, the man she now called husband.
Christopher had no such problem. He let his eyes caress her soft features and feminine curves, his mind filling in the details hidden by the voluminous cloak. She was beautiful and demure, the two things he had searched for in a wife. Finding her those many weeks ago when he had spotted her in the distance as she shopped at the market had been an answer to his prayers. She'd been with an older woman and her eyes had danced with delight at something that was said. Her head had tipped back and she had laughed, a trill of notes that had tickled the base of his spine.
He had followed her at a distance, but had lost sight of her in a surge of the crowd. His burned and twisted leg made rushing almost impossible but he had tried, feeling a tide of disappointment sweep over him that had startled and surprised him.
He came down to that market every day after that, staying to try to catch a glimpse of the fair face that had captured his mind. He had seen her in his dreams, had sketched her face over and over again until he thought he could remember every line, every curve.
The day her companion had come to the market was the day he had decided to give up if she didn't appear that morning. His heart had raced, it had to be a sign. He followed the older woman, keeping a careful distance between them as to not frighten her. When he found her house, he made it his business to find out everything he could about the occupants.
Her name, Danielle. From the first it sounded like music to his ears. Saying it was a pleasure to the tongue, a beautiful name for an entrancingly lovely girl. And he learned her story, going to every gossip monger and society dame he could think of to find out more.
He learned of her father and how he had been killed in battle during the last war, how he had married just before crossing the channel into France, leaving his precious daughter in the charge of her new stepmother. He learned of how the woman had wasted no time in taking what Danielle had and giving it to her own offspring, taking her out of the mix of society and treating her as another servant.
And he learned of the debts owed by this devious woman, how her son had wagered and flittered the money away until she was living on a prayer and a promise. His mind raced and he came up with a plan.
Now she was his. His wife and soon, the mother of his children. He felt himself getting hard at the thought of bedding the beautiful girl, of having her as his own and was glad for the robe that covered him. He watched her, seeking to understand every nuance of her expressions. When she fell asleep and her head snuggled naturally against his shoulder, he could have shouted his triumph.
Many people feared him, feared the mask and the scarred man who wore it. Most didn't remember, or hadn't known the man he had been before the scars. Maybe if he'd been another type of person, the accident that had caused those marks might have taken his life. Or his mind.
He had locked himself away with his pain, rebuilding his house, making it even bigger than it had been before the fire. He kept to himself, shying away from the curious and prying eyes of strangers. The curious were bad, the ones that pitied were worse. Sympathy was for the weak and foolish, and he didn't consider himself either.
He felt the carriage slow and turn, a slight jarring of the wheels over the fence posts he'd had buried in the ground letting him know they were close to home.
"Danielle," he said softly, not wishing to scare her as she woke. "Danielle, love. Open your eyes and see your new home."
She roused from sleep, rubbing her eyes upon her fist. She was warm and comfortable, resenting the interruption of her rest. But at his words she straightened, remembering the events of the day. She peered out the slightly grainy glass in the side of the coach and stared at the wondrous site before her.
The house was massive, built from stone quarried from places she had never heard of. The main area was huge, three stories with a wing on each end. Danielle was awestruck. The grounds around it were covered in a blanket of pure white, the snow unsullied by the soot of the city. With its long circular drive and wide pillared verandas, it looked as if she'd ridden into the pages of a story.
"My Lord, it's beautiful," she breathed, still staring out the window and missing the smile that lit his face. He moved closer, slipping behind her so that she rested against his chest. Even as she stiffened against him, he refused to move, leaning closer to point out different areas of the estate to her. And when she finally relaxed against him, he felt another sweet rush of victory.
The horses' hooves clattered loudly across the cobbled drive as they were expertly driven next to the long stairs that lead to the wide door. Danielle stepped out first, aided by a footman and then turned and waited while her new husband clumsily climbed down. He took her arm, leading her through the front doors and out of the snow that had started while they were traveling.
The inside of the huge foyer was astounding, marble floors in white with gold veins, gold silk covered walls and a chandelier that was covered with hundreds of white candles. Art work was everywhere, statues displayed upon gorgeous marble pedestals, paintings hanging from the walls. Danielle couldn't believe the beauty that was held within just this one area. She twirled around, her black cloak flying out around her as she tried to take it all in.
A servant was there almost immediately, dressed in the house livery of burgundy and black, to take their cloaks.
He introduced her to his house staff, and even though he wished to spend the day with her, he felt her nervousness. Instead, he left her in the capable hands of his housekeeper, Mrs. Whiting. "She'll show you the rest of the house and be able to get you anything that you need, my dear." He bent his head, brushing his lips lightly against her satiny cheek before turning away to go into his study.
For Danielle, the day sped by too fast, her tour of the beautifully appointed house left her dizzy with wonder. Every room seemed finer than the last until she was shown into her own bedroom. It was huge with ceilings that seemed to soar. Yellow roses etched on silk decorated the walls above light oak paneling that matched the graceful furniture. The bed sat in the center of the room, a beautiful work of art in its own right with towering spindles and a beautiful lace canopy in the same soft ivory as the silk on the walls. It was piled high with pillows and a gorgeous thick comforter of satin.
Danielle whirled around the room, overcome with what she was being shown. Her own room at the manor had been taken by Candace and she had been given a smaller room on the third floor, a room not even a quarter of the size of this one.
"The master is in the next room, m'lady, through that door there."
Mrs. Whiting's words put a damper on Danielle's enthusiasm and she stared at the connecting door with unease. Would he expect her to do those things that David had wanted of her? Would he be hideous and horrid, brutally rough as her stepbrother had warned her? She sat down hurriedly on the small settee in the sitting area and felt the fear she'd managed to ignore all day stubbornly sneak back in.
The astute housekeeper understood the girl's worries, knowing more about the "courtship" than anyone that wasn't family. She'd also unpacked the pitiful excuse of a trunk that had been sent ahead of the new couple. She'd been amazed at the condition of the gowns, at the outdated styles and fabrics. The threadbare condition of the girl's undergarments had her shaking her head in sympathy. And she planned to mention the fact to the master as soon as she could.
Mrs. Whiting helped Danielle out of the beautiful rose gown and the rich undergarments, leaving her sitting quietly in her own ancient dressing gown. She hung the garments up, placing them back in the wardrobe that housed the rest of Danielle's pitiful belongs. She took the pins from Danielle's dark tresses, watching them flow over her shoulder like fall of stygian waters, brushing the thick locks. Then she patted her on the hand as she left.
"I'll wake you before supper, m'lady, and help you get ready until we can find you your own maid. If that's agreeable."
Danielle lay on the huge bed, covering herself with a seductively soft cashmere throw. Her heart was no longer pounding in fear, the long night and extreme emotions had left her exhausted. She closed her eyes and slept.
She didn't hear him come into her room, standing at the connecting door, his eyes roving over the picture she made with her hair flowing softly around her face, the dressing gown gaping a little to show the upper most curves of her full breasts. Her breath came softly through lush parted lips, her thick eyelashes resting against creamy cheeks. He could make out the slight swelling and the bruise from her stepbrother's blow of the night before and felt regret that he had inadvertently caused her such pain.
She should be showered with gifts, pampered and spoiled until her eyes sparkled with laughter and love. She should never have been treated the way those people had treated her. But he would make up for that now.
Christopher walked carefully to the bed, quiet despite the limp that he so despised. Sitting on the edge, he allowed himself the pleasure of looking at her, of filling his senses with her. His bare hand reached out, tentatively brushing against her hair to feel its silken texture, wishing he could wrap it around his hand, bury his face in its thickness.
Would she ever smile at seeing him come into a room? The idea of that bright sunny grin shining on him with warmth and love made his breath come faster in his chest. Her eyes would sparkle and she would run to him, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. He would sweep her up in his arms and make her laugh as he twirled around the room.
He looked down at his burned leg, reality intruding upon such a happy fantasy. How could someone as perfect and beautiful as she fall for a man scarred and twisted by flames? Christopher sighed heavily, feeling the burden of his injuries sit a little heavier upon his shoulders.
"Danielle?" he said softly, not wanting to frighten her.
She murmured something and wrinkled her nose, the expression on her face causing him to smile.
"Danielle? Wake up, my lady."
Danielle heard her name being called and opened bleary sleep fogged eyes. She stared at the face over hers for a moment in confusion and then the events of the day came back. She sat up quickly, gathering the throw around her tightly and pushing herself backwards and up to the top of the bed. "M...my Lord. What are you doing in here?"
Christopher couldn't help the twinge he felt as she stared at him in such an accusing manner. "I thought, per chance, you might like to have supper in your room. You might be more comfortable here instead of dressing and going down to the dining room for something more formal."
She didn't understand. He didn't want her to eat with him? Was he tiring of her so quickly? "That...that is most kind of you, my Lord."
"Christopher." He held out his hand and she gingerly took it.
"Christopher," she repeated, the heat of his fingers seeping into her skin.
"I'll send for a table then, Danielle. It should give you time to freshen up if you'd like."
He walked out, leaving her staring after him. She hurriedly bathed her face and hands, the cool water in the pitcher washing the last of the fatigue from her mind. Then she ran her brush through her hair, noting how out of place the piece looked in this beautifully appointed room with it's old broken handle and bent bristles. Maybe she looked the same, she thought, glancing down at the old dressing gown that was too short with lace that was just beginning to become ratty on the ends. She sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do about it at this moment, but determined to mend and repair her clothing now that she might have time.
There was a light knock on the door and then it opened, two footmen carrying in a small table already covered in fine linen. A wheeled cart followed and the table was laid swiftly with gold rimmed china and fragile crystal stemware. Danielle's smile faltered as she noted the two place settings, but she buried her misgivings deeply and was waiting when Christopher knocked on the connecting door.
Instead of just calling out, Danielle went and opened it herself, startled to find him dressed only in a long black robe made of thick soft material. She backed away slowly, her steps taking her in front of the fireplace where she stopped, afraid and confused.
Christopher could only stare at the picture she made, her beautiful body outlined by flames through the thin material of her robe. Her legs were long, slender ankles curving gracefully to trim thighs. He could see just a hint of shadow there between her legs, and felt his pulse rate quicken. Her hips curved into a tiny waist then rose to breasts almost too full for her diminutive size. Seeing her like this made his manhood stir and come to life, throbbing with a mind of it's own.
Her hair seemed to shimmer, flickering with its own tiny red flames as it tumbled over her shoulders in thick curls. Her eyes seemed huge and more blue than the clearest sky in summer. Her hands came up and clasped against her breast and her tongue swept out, wetting lips gone dry with nerves. He felt the moan start in his chest as he watched that tasty piece of flesh disappear into her mouth once more. He controlled it, barely, stifling it with a determined will to woo the fragile beauty who hadn't known tenderness or love in many years.
"Are you hungry, my dear?" Christopher asked gently, amazed that his voice sounded even close to normal. "I'm sure my...our cook put herself into a tizzy tonight trying to impress her new mistress." He held out his bare hand toward her and she timidly took it, feeling the warmth against her chilly fingers. He stared down at the tiny hand in his, her fingers trembling like the beat of a butterfly's wings against his palm. It was a first sign of trust and he meant to nurture it, to tend it and watch it grow until she came to look forward to seeing him.
He took her to her chair, holding it out and seating her himself instead of the footman who stood ready to serve them.
Danielle didn't know what she was served, eating a little of what was placed in front of her. Her tension grew as the dinner progressed. She knew Christopher was being charming and amusing, doing what he could to put her at her ease. When he finally dismissed the footman, she breathed a sigh. Now was the time to talk to him, now she had to ask for the one thing that she'd been thinking about all day. And she could only hope that the kind man sitting across from her would understand.
"My Lord," she said, her words almost whisper soft and breathless with nervous anticipation of his reaction. "I ... I need to ask something of you."
Christopher sat down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin, and gave her his full attention. "Whatever I can do, Danielle, you have but to ask," he said simply and with a gentle smile.
Danielle could hear David's insidious voice in her ear, his words of previous wives and the horror of her husband's perversions making her even more nervous. And confused. His actions with her, his manner had been kind and gentle, not that of a horrible beast who planned abominable things that she couldn't even imagine.
"What is it, my Lady?"
"I...I don't want to share your bed," the words blurted from her mouth quickly and without thought. As soon as they were spoken, she wished she could call them back. She saw the look in his eyes grow bitter and he stared down at his gloved hand with animosity. Did he think his scars were... "No, Christopher. Oh, God, no, it's not that." She flew from her chair around the small table until she was kneeling by his legs looking up at him. "I just mean, we have only just met and don't know how we will deal with the other yet. A few days, time for both of us to grow accustom to the other." Her hand reached out and touched his face, her fingers gentle on his unscarred cheek. "Can you not give me this, husband?"
He turned his face in her hand, kissing her palm as he held it to his mouth. Then he stood, drawing her up with him. He could have her in his arms right now. It was his right as husband, to demand his due if he wished. But what he wished most was for her to come to him as she just had, to touch him of her own accord and not because he demanded it.
"I can give you this, wife," he replied. "On two conditions." He smiled to take the seriousness out of his words.
"And they are?"
"One, you spend time with me everyday, that we may learn of one another and grow accustom, as you so eloquently put it." He lifted her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, letting them brush across his lips in more of a caress than a kiss. He saw the shiver that trembled through her and watched as her eyelids grew heavy. A thrill shot through him at the thought that she felt pleasure at his touch.
"And the second?" she asked, her voice slightly husky.
"That you allow me to kiss you."
"Now?"
"Now and whenever I wish," he said, staring down at her beautifully full lips. "Just a kiss," his voice was growing softer as he spoke, his head bending towards hers. "I won't take anything more than you are willing to give me, sweet Danielle."
She felt his gloved hand on her chin, raising it to meet his lips. Before they captured hers though, he stopped, his breath warm on her mouth. "And your answer to my conditions?" he asked, his lips delicately brushing across hers as he spoke.
"Y...yes I accept you..." the rest of what she was going to say was lost as Christopher took her mouth, his lips gently exploring the softness he found there. He was tender when he wanted to be passionate, sweet when he wanted to be carnal, but this first kiss between them, this first giving and taking of such innocent intimacy would always remain in her mind.
She needed wooing, he told his lustful body. He opened his mouth over hers, brushing his tongue across her full bottom lip, hearing her sudden intake of air. He nibbled on that sweet morsel of flesh, his hands coming up to frame her face, to tip it so that he could find a better angle to seduce her lips.
When he finally released her mouth from his tender assault, she stumbled back a step, her fingers raising to touch her swollen, well kissed lips. Her breath came in torrid pants, her breasts rising and falling quickly under the thin fabric covering her. She felt heat sweep over her, felt her skin flush with the pleasure of it and couldn't understand. Her stomach felt tight and empty, even though she'd just eaten, and she wanted to ask him to kiss her again.
Christopher stared down at her fragile beauty, seeing the signs of desire upon her face. His wife, he thought, she was his wife and he had forever to make love to her. He had to be patient. But his body didn't want patience. That one taste of her sweet mouth made him hunger for more. Feeling the slight curves of her against him had him hard and aching, he wanted to sweep her into his arms, carry her to his bed and seduce her into loving him with the same passion he felt for her.
But he would wait even if it killed him. He almost laughed aloud. With the ache radiating from his groin, it just might.
"Tomorrow, love, can you schedule a few hours to spend with me?" His request was made gently but his voice was harsh with passion. "I'd love to show you your new home."
Danielle nodded, her heart racing. He took the two steps forward that brought her back into his reach and bent his head, kissing her lips lightly, letting them linger within that gentle kiss until he could feel the need reaching at him again.
"Then I'll bid you goodnight, my sweet Danielle. If you need me, for anything, I'll be just on the other side of that door." With that, he turned, walking stiffly back to his room. He didn't look back at her, knowing the temptation she'd rouse might be too much for him to resist in his state. Instead, he walked through the door, closing it and ran trembling fingers through the thick mane of his own hair before going to the wide balcony outside his room and standing on it to let the cold air cool his raging blood.
Danielle watched him leave with a puzzled frown. He was granting her wish, giving her the time that she had asked for. Then why did she suddenly wish she hadn't spoken and made the deal?
~*~
Chapter Three
Her days passed quickly and pleasurably. Her time well taken up with pastimes much more pleasant than the constant cleaning and errand running she'd had with her stepfamily.
Danielle woke each morning with a bright smile. Her bruises healed with time, her spirit mended with her husband's gentle care and tender actions. She laughed more, finding delight in many things that she hadn't the time to notice before.
And then there were Christopher's kisses. They ranged from a gentle buzzing of his lips against hers to ones of passion so raging and ardent that she trembled with feelings more confusing then ever. She knew he wanted her, she could see his desire in his beautiful eyes, feel it when he held her close to him.
But he never broke his word, he never went further than the kisses he'd bargained for even though the price he paid for the bargain were sleepless nights waiting for her to come to him.
The holiday season was upon them, invitations to Christmas balls arriving daily as the curious were ever eager to see the young couple together and find out how the timid beauty was faring with her amorous beast.
When Christopher mentioned the first invitation, Danielle felt her heart fall. She'd mended her gowns, altering them to fit her more slender form. But she had nothing fitting for a ball.
She tried to make excuses, instead she saw his eyes harden. And she knew he thought she didn't want to be seen in public with him. A notion so far from the truth that she had to disabuse him of that idea. He was so much more than she'd thought possible when she'd first spotted him that night those many weeks ago. He'd been nothing but generous and patient with her, revealing a caring and tender mien that she hadn't expected from the gruff exterior he showed to others.
She couldn't let him think she was ashamed of him, when the truth was she was ashamed of herself.
"Christopher," she called as he made his excuses and tried to leave the room. She rushed to him, putting her hand lightly against his chest. "I would love to go to the ball with you, husband. I would find pleasure being escorted upon your arm." She bent her head shyly, not able to meet his eyes as she made her confession. "I...I have nothing appropriate to wear to a ball, my Lord."
He raised her chin with gentle fingers, searching her eyes for the truth of her words. Then he laughed, enjoying her sweet blushes. "Well, I've been meaning to see to that but no matter." He kissed her, pulling her slender form into his embrace. She nestled against him as if she were coming home, her lips lingering as she raised on her toes to better fit to his taller form.
The shock of lust that boiled low in his gut had become a familiar thing, almost a steady companion since they had wed. Feeling her slim hips press against him so trustingly added to that lust, making him want to pull her to the floor, strip her from her gown and bury himself in her loveliness. He pulled his lips from hers, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Her scent surrounded him, invading his senses as he tried desperately to control the raging need she was provoking so unconsciously in him.
"God, Danielle," he breathed, his lips tasting the sweet flesh of her throat. "I want you." He heard her moan softly and felt her head tip to the side slightly, as if offering her neck to him. Did she want this? Was she finally ready to become his wife in all ways?
The unexpected entrance of Mrs. Whiting had stopped him that day from finding out if she would accept his advances. But he noted her watching him carefully from then on, her eyes shyly meeting his more often then before. She seemed to study him, smiling at her own musings. And he felt hope.
~~~~~~~~
The next day she was greeted by a seamstress and entourage, carry bolts of material, silks and satins, fine cottons and heavier woolens of all colors. Laces and trims, buttons and bows were matched or discarded. Sketches decided upon until Danielle was too overwhelmed to make any more decisions. When they finally left her, well into the afternoon, she had been measured and tutted over, material draped and pinned around her, shoes chosen and hats and bonnets decided upon. She fell upon her bed, dizzy and excited, exhausted and overwhelmed, with orders in for a trousseau of clothing so beautiful she couldn't believe it. And promises of the first ball gown to be ready by the date of the first Christmas ball.
She jumped off the bed, hurrying down to Christopher's study, a place she'd never been before, and timidly knocked on the door. At his call, she entered and rushed to him, her skirts flying.
"Thank you, Christopher. I can't believe you did that, thank you so much." She walked around his desk and, gathering her new found courage, cupped his face between her hands, bending to kiss him softly. She lingered against his lips, using what he had taught her to innocently seduce her agreeable husband until finally she pulled back. She smiled shyly down into his startled but pleased face.
"You are more than welcome, my sweet. If there was anything they forgot, let me know. I'll set up an account for you with the seamstress and speak to my banker about giving you access to the household accounts."
"Oh, Christopher. You don't need to do that. You have given me so much."
He took her hand and pulled gently until she found herself sitting across his lap. He groaned silently as the soft, rounded curves of her bottom caressed his hardness and his arms wrapped around her tightly when she tried to get up.
"Where are you going, love?"
"I...I, well," she shifted a little to make herself more comfortable and then let her head rest against his shoulder. "I guess, no where now, my Lord. I didn't think that you might be working." She giggled a little nervously. "I was just so excited about the new gowns and wanted to thank you."
"Then stay here and thank me more," he nuzzled her ear with his nose then kissed her neck. "Those books were boring me to tears. You're here and I can ignore them now."
She settled in, letting him kiss her, his mouth moving over hers in ways that caused fascinating waves of heat to bloom on her skin. He parted her lips with his tongue, sliding into the delicious taste of her with a groan of pure pleasure, feeling the timid caress of her own against his. Her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest, their tender weight nestling into him and creating havoc in his system.
His hand seemed to move of it's own accord, sliding down to the hem of her gown, resting against the smooth skin of her ankle before slipping upward, bringing the gown with it. He reached her knees, sliding ever higher until she suddenly pushed him away, her breasts heaving as she looked down at his hand under her skirt.
"Christopher?" she asked, hesitantly, her voice a mere whisper.
He took his hand away from her smooth warm flesh, groaning as he pulled down her skirt. His forehead rested against the top of her hair as he tried to control the passion that seemed to want to destroy his resolve. Finally, with a deep sigh, he stood her back up, grimacing as her bottom came into contact with the hard bulge in his breeches. "Love," he warned huskily. "If you aren't ready to be my wife in everyway right this moment, you'd better go." He swallowed hard, looking up into her wide blue eyes. "I want you more than I want my next breath, Danielle. And right now, I'm begging you, make your decision soon. I don't know how much more of this I can stand."
She stared into his eyes, confusion, passion and regret swimming across her features. "I'm sorry, Christopher." A sob came from deep inside of her and she turned, running from the room. He heard her slippered feet on the stairs as his study door swung closed with a gentle click.
~~~~~~~~
There was a new awareness between them, an awakening of sorts for Danielle. She noticed everything about him now. And as the Christmas holiday drew ever nearer, she began to question herself and this restriction she had put on their marriage.
She walked into the home of one of Christopher's good friends, on her husband's arm. She held her head proudly, a gentle smile upon her lovely face as they were led into the ornately decorated ballroom and announced in front of the assembled guests. She felt all eyes upon her as her husband squeezed her hand comfortingly and she turned to bestow a bemused smile upon him.
He bent his head, whispering for her ears only, "You are beautiful, my wife." And she was.
The ball gown was creamy white leaving her shoulders bare, tiny feathers decorating the plunging neckline that exposed a goodly amount of her full breasts. Its full skirt swept back into a short train and showed off her trim waist. She seemed to glow, her skin luminous, her eyes sparkling. Her hair was swept up with three long curls to tease the bare curve of her shoulder, a shoulder her husband very much wanted to kiss.
She knew they were the talk of the ball, gossip spreading like wildfire as people tried to guess the nature of their courtship. Her name was bandied from tongue to tongue as all tried to decide who she was and why they hadn't seen her before.
Danielle didn't care for any of it, enjoying the music and the festive atmosphere. She barely left her husband's side, only dancing a few times with friends of his before returning directly to him. She stood with her hand upon his shoulder, his gloved hand upon hers.
The night was more than half over when she saw her stepbrother through the crowd, his path apparent as he made his way towards them.
Christopher felt her hand tense on his shoulder and looked up, seeing the cause of her upset. He stood and excused himself from the conversation, turning to Danielle.
"My love, would you care for some fresh air?"
He slid her hand through his arm and moved to the French doors that led to the gardens. In the summer they would be a glorious sight. Tonight, they had been decorated for Christmas with red and green paper lanterns strung throughout the barren trees. A gentle snow was falling but there was no breeze and though cold, it seemed they weren't the only ones who'd had this idea.
Christopher doffed his coat, laying it gently over his wife's bare shoulders and strolling with her until they found a quiet spot to stand. His hand raised to trace the soft curve of her cheek, brushing off a single snowflake that had rested there. He kissed her softly, hearing the doors open once more and then close again with a sharp rattle.
He felt Danielle smile under his lips. "Something amuses you, my love?"
"You do, Christopher," she laughed up at him. "You knew he was coming out here and kissed me on purpose."
"Me?" He took a step back from her and acted as if completely astounded at her accusation. Her laugher was his prize for the game and he took her back into his arms, enjoying the way she snuggled against his chest. "Danielle, I would never kiss you for anything other than our own pleasure. Your stepbrother witnessing it, well, that was just an added bonus."
She laughed again at the smug look upon his face and felt his hands moving over her back, pulling her closer to him. A tiny shiver took her, pleasure from feeling him next to her, from being with him. But he mistook it as a chill. "We should go back in before you become ill, my lady. I'd never forgive myself if my desire to have you alone caused you to become sick." He started to turn to go back into the ballroom and stopped, his hand going to the small pocket in the front of his breeches.
"I can't believe I forgot about this," he said almost to himself. He removed something from the pocket and then took Danielle's hand, kissing her palm before turning it over. "I never got you a bride's gift, my love." With that he slipped a ring upon her finger, kissing it when he was done before allowing her to look.
The ring was delicately made, gold braided intricately for the band with five sparkling blue sapphires surrounding a brilliant diamond. It took her breath away with its beauty and even more so with his thoughtfulness. A tear glimmered in her eye, caught on her thick lashes before falling soundlessly.
Christopher saw the tear and his face grew tender seeing in her his hopes for the future, his love and his passion. She reached up and drew his face to hers, kissing him gently before holding her hand up to the dim light coming from the windows behind them. It flashed and sparkled over the bright stones. "Thank you, Christopher, I shall wear it proudly."
He tucked her hand on his arm and escorted her back to the ball, looking around to see if he could spot Danielle's stepbrother. The man was no where to be seen and they enjoyed the rest of their evening.
~~~~~~~~
He didn't make another appearance until a few nights before Christmas, showing up at Danielle's arm just as she was being escorted back to her husband after dancing with one of his friends. Danielle's face was flushed from the exercise and she'd been laughing at something her escort had said when she felt a hand upon her arm.
"May I have this dance, stepsister?"
Her stepbrother's voice was as oily as ever as he bowed to the gentleman and pulled Danielle back onto the floor where new music had just begun. Taking her in his arms, he held her just a little too close for her peace of mind, holding her firmly when she tried to step back.
"David," she hissed, faltering through the steps of the dance, "please stop."
"Your fortunes have changed drastically for the better, sister dear," he said, his tone of sarcasm barely masked. "Being married to a scarred and disfigured beast seems to suit you well. He must really know what he is doing between your thighs."
Danielle tried to pull away, to stop his movements but he was too strong, dragging her with him. She could see the looks of the curious and hurried to catch up to his steps, determined to finish this dance and get away from him as quickly as she could.
"My husband is a good and decent man, and the only nice thing your family has done for me. Now please, I'd like to go find him."
He took her arm, pulling her off the dance floor and out a side door into a room that was currently not being used. Danielle struggled against him, fighting to get away without causing a scandal. "Let me go, David. Christopher will be looking for me."
"I just want another sample of what that bastard is now getting, Danielle," he spat at her, gathering her writhing body against his. His mouth covered hers, capturing the shriek she gave just a second too late.
She pushed at him, holding her mouth tightly shut as he pushed at her lips with his tongue. His hand came around to her breast, trying to scoop the full globe out of the tightness of her bodice, only succeeding in ripping one of the seams. She stamped down on his foot, her full skirts hampering her movements, finally doubling up her fist and hitting him as hard as she could across his face.
"You bitch!" he ground out, pushing her from him so that she fell to the floor. He fingers pushed at the swelling around his eye, catching sight of the blood from the cut caused by her ring, as Danielle hurriedly gathered herself, scooting towards the door as fast as she could. She opened the door and shut it quickly behind her, wishing she could lock him in to keep him away from her. Turning she took two steps and found herself enfolded in a pair of male arms.
"No!" she gasped.
"Danielle? Love, what's wrong? I didn't see you on the dance floor and worried that something might be the matter." Christopher's voice had never been more welcome.
"Nothing," she mumbled, burying her face in his coat and smelling his familiar scent with a sense of relief. She glanced back at the still closed door, anxious now to get away. "Can we go, Christopher? I know it's early, but I'm feeling a little tired."
"Of course." He signaled a footman to retrieve their cloaks and to order round his coach, wrapping hers around her with loving hands.
Danielle didn't relax until she was at home, away from any chance of contact with her evil stepbrother. She sat at her dressing table, her new blue velvet dressing gown wrapped warmly around her letting Mary, her new maid brush out her hair. Mary jabbered on, chattering about anything that came to mind until Danielle finally had enough and sent her out. Then she sat on the settee in front of the fire, staring at the sparkling stones in the ring that she never was without.
It was time, she thought. Time to make the decision, to become his wife in more than name. He'd given her everything and asked for nothing from her. He was gentle and kind, loving and wonderful. How could she deny him her body?
Her thoughts drifted as she stared into the flames until a noise brought her up right. She heard it again, a groan, a thrashing noise from beyond the connecting door of their rooms.
She hurried to the door and knocked tentatively, then opened the door as the thrashing continued. She saw Christopher in the light from the flames of the fire in his room, his arms thrashed as he fought with his dreams, his mouth opened and horrid groans of pain emerged, tearing at her heart. She rushed to him, calling his name as she tried to wake him.
"Christopher, it's a dream. Wake up, Christopher." She climbed on his bed, avoiding his flailing arms and reached out to touch him, shaking him gently.
He woke instantly, sitting straight up in bed, the covers falling to his waist, revealing his naked chest to her gaze. And for the first time she saw the extent of the damage of the scars that he lived with.
The scar on his face wasn't the terrible disfiguring thing she had thought it might be, crossing from his forehead and across his eyebrow to his jaw line, leaving traces of smooth skin around his eye and along his hair. It was worse on his neck and down his chest and arm, the flesh crinkled and raw looking, shiny and scarred. Before she could look further, he grabbed his covers, pulling them up and around his face so that she could only see the unburned half of him.
"What are you doing here, Danielle?" His voice was gruff, from sleep and the nightmare or embarrassment, she didn't know.
"You were dreaming, making the most awful groans, Christopher. I heard you from my room." She reached out her hand and touched the edge of the blanket that was next to his face, trying to pull it down again.
He resisted for but a moment, then slowly let her lower it until she once more could see all of his face. "It's ugly, Danielle, and not something that you should have to look at."
"You're my husband, Christopher. There isn't a part of you I would consider ugly." She scooted closer until she could lay her lips gently on the burn on his cheek, wishing with all her soul that she had been able to spare him the pain that these scars represented. Her lips slid from his cheek, finding his mouth with an innocence that made his heart pound. When she sat back, he found his voice.
"Danielle, do you know what you are doing? Do you know what you want now?"
A blush rose to her cheeks, her eyes cast down.. "I want to belong to you, husband. I want to be your wife in everyway. But, I'm frightened."
He pulled her close, his heart thudding so loudly at her words, he was afraid it would beat itself to death against his ribs. The desire he felt for her, desire that was always a hair trigger away, surfaced, pooling in his loins. He drew a deep, steadying breath and prayed he didn't lose control, that he could make this night, this experience wonderful for her.
"We'll take it slow, love." Even if it killed him. "And if you fear, you just need to tell me." The trust in her eyes, the innocent desire he could see kindling there pulled at him and his mouth found hers, the sensation different without the leather mask covering his face. It began with lingering tenderness, teasing nips at her lower lip that made her gasp, light strokes of his tongue that had her deepening the kiss, searching for his tongue with her own.
He pulled her across his lap, his fingers untying the robe she word, pulling it from her shoulders to drape across the bed. The bit of gauzy material she wore under it was little covering, revealing more than concealing the wonderful curves of her body. He groaned at the sight of her full breasts, her rosy nipples pressing wantonly against the thin gown as he pulled her arms free from the robe.
His hands touched her face gently and she felt his scarred right hand for the first time. He pulled her against him, wrapping her in his arms as he buried his face in her hair, breathing the clean fragrance of her as he sought to calm the thundering urges of his body.
Her hands weren't still, creeping up his chest and over his bare shoulders, twisting in the strands of black hair that lay so thickly against his neck. She felt a wildness deep inside of herself, an ache that made her long to whimper for him to hurry, to assuage a need she didn't, in her innocence, understand. She tugged on his hair, bringing his face to hers, making advances that she scarce knew how to make.
The groan that came from his chest was part pleasure, part pain, part pure need for the slim beauty who had taken his heart so easily. He rolled, pulling her down to the bed so that he lay above her, his hands caressing her face as he drugged her mind with shattering kisses. The tie of her night rail came undone easily under his fingers, the sides falling open and leaving a swath of pale, creamy skin naked to his sight. He pushed the material off her shoulders, baring the upper half of her lovely body.
"Christopher..." her voice was a whisper of embarrassment and he saw the slight move of her hands as if she would cover her breasts from his view.
"No, love. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You are so achingly beautiful." He took her hands, kissing each one gently before putting them on his shoulders. "Just touch me, Danielle."
"H...how?" He saw her take her bottom lip between her teeth and gnaw on it in indecision. "I want to please you, Christopher."
"You are pleasing me, Danielle." He took her bottom lip in his own mouth, biting gently upon it, nibbling the soft flesh. "The touch of your soft hands on my skin gives me pleasure that is unimaginable. Having you here with me is a wonderful gift, my love." He took her mouth, letting a little of his passion for her burn through his control. Her lips were sweeter than the finest sugars, the flavor of her mouth that of dark passion that lured him even further in his seduction of her senses.
His lips trailed to her ear, caressing the tiny shell with little flicks of his tongue before softly sucking on her earlobe. He felt her body stir under his and smiled darkly, need teasing at the edges of his control. Her neck beckoned him and he tasted her there, feeling the pulse beating madly at the base of her throat. Christopher found the soft skin above her collarbone enticing and nipped it gently, hearing her gasp and feeling the shudder of passion float through her body.
Danielle's hands caressed his back, feeling the long line of scar tissue that twisted across half his body with gentle, trembling fingers. Her mind was lost to the sensations he was stirring in her so effortlessly with his lips and his hands. His fingers grazed the rigid tips of her breasts, stroking with feather like touches around the full curving globes before coming back to claim the pale mounds.
His lips found one beaded nipple and latched on, and she arched to ask for more as the spasms of pleasure shot through with lightning flashes to the knot of tension slowly coiling in her belly. Her hands moved to his hair, holding his mouth to her breasts. She sighed and started to protest when he lifted his head, his mouth taking hers again with sweet demand that lanced through her with tiny flickering flames.
Christopher pulled on the gown that was gathered at her waist, taking it down her legs and off with her help, baring her every lovely curve to his eyes. He sent a silent prayer heavenward that he would be able to give her pleasure, that she wouldn't fear him after tonight. And then she felt his hand, there, where David's had been. Where David had hurt her before and she couldn't help the fear that had her pulling away.
"It's okay, love," Christopher whispered against her mouth, his fingers gentle as they stroked across the curling silk that covered her woman's mound. "Open for me." His fingers parted her soft lips, slipping in to feel the heat and wetness of her desire. He closed his eyes as a pulse of pleasure jerked through him so intense he thought he would loose his seed before he could take her.
Danielle arched under him as his fingers explored the secrets of her womanhood. His hand felt different then David's had, her body welcoming her husband's touch with a flow of nature's moisture that eased his way. It was shocking, the way he touched her, the things he was making her feel. And then his fingers moved, concentrating on a tiny nubbin of flesh and her body jolted. Pleasure spilled into her as her hips arched and thrust against his hand, gasping groans coming from her mouth unheard as he tortured her slender frame.
She could feel something, something that was more, just beyond her reach and she strained towards it, her eyes closed, her hands grasping at the twisted sheets under her. Her thighs clamped on his hand as she thrust against him until she shattered, pleasure searing through her in waves so fierce she screamed out his name.
Before her body could fully relax, before the pleasure that had blinded her to all else subsided completely, she felt him spread her thighs, coming between them to slowly press into her pulsating sheath. She felt her tender flesh stretch around his hard shaft as he kissed her cheeks. Her hands grasped his side as he started to press further into her, small strokes pushing him ever deeper.
Christopher felt the thin membrane that blocked his path and stopped, stroking her hair from her face and letting her adjust to his size for a moment as he kissed her passion swollen lips. He'd known he would be her first but that tiny barrier that protected her virgin womb provided proof that she was his, just his. Lust swamped over him and his body moved before he could stop it, pushing through that barrier and claiming her as his own.
He felt her stiffen under him as the pain wracked through her. "I'm sorry love, it won't hurt again. I promise." He tried to hold still but it had been so long, he had wanted her so much he couldn't help but move, stroking his long hard length inside the tight sheath that fit him so perfectly.
Full breasts pressed against his chest, her hips arched upward, tipping to meet his thrusts. Danielle gasped as that same pleasure she'd just felt returned in full force, centering where they were so intimately joined. Her thighs parted further, her leg caressing his as she slowly brought it up, granting him even deeper access to her body.
Christopher felt her surrender and then her aggression and breathed a silent pray of thanksgiving. She met his every thrust, giving as well as taking. He watched her face, saw her eyes go blind with pleasure just instants before he joined her, filling her with thick ropes of his silken fluid, as her cries joined his moans in the quiet of the bedchamber.
He held her tightly for a moment, then rolled to his back, pulling her with him until she was tucked against his side, her head resting against his unscarred shoulder. Her breath rasped across his chest and she could hear the galloping beat of his heart in her ear. His hand stroked down her back, resting against her waist and she slipped her leg up his, feeling his seed wet against her thigh.
She couldn't believe she'd been so afraid of that, so terrified to give herself to the man who had given her everything he was, his gentleness, his kindness, his home and his money. A thought crossed her mind that brought a frown to mar her happiness. What about his love? Did she want to be loved by her husband? Did she love him?
Danielle thought back over the weeks since they'd been married, the tender care he had shown her, the hours they had spent together in different pursuits, the effortless conversation over a myriad of topics that never seemed exhausted. His interest in her opinion had amazed and delighted her. She remembered the pleasure she got from being with him, the joy she felt when he entered a room. And then she tried to picture her future without him and felt a stab of pain around her heart. Was this... Did she love her husband?
His fingers stroked across the furrows in her forehead, gently smoothing them away. "Is something wrong, Danielle?" Concern colored his voice as he felt a twinge of unease. He thought she'd felt the same as he, had he been mistaken?
"Nothing is wrong, my Lord, except for my foolish worry that has kept us from this pleasure before now." She scooted up until she could look into his face. "I'm sorry, Christopher."
He smiled and flicked her nose, then kissed it before letting his lips cover hers in a kiss of growing heat. She shrieked when he pulled her up, setting her slight weight down across his loins so she straddled him.
"I guess you'll just have to make it up to me, Danielle," he said, grinning at her look of shock. "I did tell you I'd teach you how to ride, didn't I?"
Laughter turned to soft sighs and quiet moans as he did just that.
~*~
Chapter Four
The days passed quickly as the couple explored their sensuous nature. Danielle's thoughts of love took root and grew, binding her to Christopher not only by law but by her heart. She no longer slept in her own room, using it for changing as her husband's bed definitely held more to offer than her own lonely bower.
He grew more comfortable in her presence, wearing his mask only when others were present. His manner relaxed and Mrs. Whiting smiled to see the man he had been before the accident peeking through. He laughed more, delighting in his wife's graceful wit and wry sense of humor. His improved manner was noted by the entire household staff and all appreciated the change.
They'd decorated for Christmas, a huge tree standing in front of the large front window, decorated with homemade ornaments and spun glass balls. Tiny candles were clipped to the ends of the branches and would be lit Christmas morning for the Master and his lady, and the staff to enjoy. The smells of Christmas abounded, pine boughs gracing the mantles, baking smells emitting from the kitchen. Red and gold bows were hung from the doorways, tiny sprigs of fresh mistletoe dangling from each, in invitation for Christmas kisses.
A ball was being held on Christmas Eve and the newly wedded couple were invited. Danielle dressed in the newest of her finery, a black satin gown that was shot through with strands of silver threads. She sparkled when she moved, the dress framing her beauty and Christopher proudly walked with her into the ballroom. They wandered the room, speaking to acquaintances before following the throng to where a long table had been laid with an elaborate feast of finely prepared foods.
Then back to the ballroom where the line of men who wished to dance and talk to Danielle seemed endless. She danced a few, never with the same man twice, and then sweetly excused herself to go to the room that had been reserved for the ladies to freshen up.
Danielle smiled to herself, seeing her reflection smile back. Tonight she would tell Christopher that she loved him. She'd decided and she wasn't going to back down. The little voice in the back of her mind that hinted at doubts was firmly told to shush as she planned the deed, and sought a little privacy from the crowded ball.
"Oh, so the little slave girl has become a swan," the voice she had hoped never to hear again, sneered at her. She looked behind her, seeing her stepmother Constance, rage upon the older woman's face as she glared at her stepdaughter in her beautiful gown, jewels hanging from her ears and around her throat.
Danielle stood, her shoulders back, not allowing the woman's words to bother her. "Yes, stepmother. If you intent was to marry me to an ogre who would dress me in rags, then I am sorry, you failed."
Constance face turned redder, a sure sign of her temper. "You act the haughty one now, missy. But you won't be such for long." She reached out and clasped Danielle's slender bare arm in her strong fingers, yanking her forward.
"What are you doing? Stop that," Danielle tried furiously to escape, struggling to free herself from the evil grasp. The door behind her opened and she breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that she was to be rescues. Her hopes were dashed when the oily voice of her stepbrother intruded.
"Problems, mother?" He stepped forward, wrapping his arms firmly around Danielle from behind, trapping her arms in his grasp. He moved his feet quickly out of the way of her heels as she attempted to free herself and stuffed his handkerchief in the young woman's mouth as she opened it to scream.
Constance took the ropes she had concealed under the thick cloak she carried and wrapped them around the girl's arms, pulling the bonds tighter than necessary and delighting as her stepdaughter moaned in pain.
"Now, now, mother, darling. Let's not bruise her too badly. We don't want to enrage the beast before we kill him."
Danielle's head swiveled as she tried to spit out the piece of cloth that was stuffed in her mouth. Kill? Did they mean Christopher?
When her hands were tied, the cloak was draped around her, the hood pulled forward until her face disappeared in its shadow. Once more, David pulled her back to him, his voice whispering in her cloth covered ear. "Make a scene, Danielle, alert even one person that something is going on and your beloved husband will be dead before he hears of your peril. Behave yourself and come with us willingly and we can discuss your options. Now, nod your head if you understand."
Danielle nodded, having no choice in the matter. She let herself be led from the room and past others in the giant entryway, down the stairs to be herded into a closed coach. She was tossed inside, her head striking the wood on the other side of the coach hard, leaving her disoriented as she was dragged onto the seat next to David.
The coach took off, carrying her away from the man she loved.
~~~~~
Christopher was out of his mind with worry, having lost control at the ball when he realized that Danielle was missing. No one had seen her since she had left the dance floor. She wasn't in the house and the grounds were being searched systematically. He glanced at the clock on the mantle, just after midnight. It was Christmas and the gift he'd been given, the gift of Danielle in his life was gone.
He felt the old misery and darkness creeping back, the brooding that he had done for months after the fire that had left him scarred and disfigured felt almost like a familiar friend after the warmth of his wife was missing. He heard someone enter the room and looked up. His host shook his head slightly, no news.
"Was she upset? Could she have run out?" he asked.
"No, no, she was looking forward to tomorrow. To today," he corrected himself angrily. He stood and paced the room again. "This is getting me nowhere. I'm going to go home, see if there has been any news on that end." He turned and stalked from the room, his gait heavy, his shoulders bowed.
His coach waited at the end of the stairs and he climbed in, throwing the robe across his lap. He could smell the fragrance of the scent she'd worn tonight. It haunted him, teased him with the thoughts that she might be lost to him. Where could she have possibly gone?
He made the trip home in the coach, feeling the agony of worry and not knowing tear at him. Was she lost? Did she somehow become turned around and end up outside? Did someone have her? Where the hell was she?
The windows were lit up when he arrived home, giving him a momentary hope. Mrs. Whiting came to the door, her hands ringing the plain white apron she wore over her black dress. Her eyes asked questions that he had no answers for and he walked past her. He made his way to his chamber, staring at the bed where they had made love so many times in the past few days. He could see her sitting in front of the fire, her eyes sparkling as he walked to her, a smile curving the beautiful lines of her mouth. And now she wasn't here.
Anger took him and he tore at the room, tearing off the bedclothes to puddle on the floor, tipping over the furniture, ripping at the paintings. His chest heaving, he walked from the room, unable to stand the memories each corner seemed to have. As he went to go into his study, Mrs. Whiting stopped him, a note upon a silvery tray. He took it, seeing his name printed upon the front and nothing else. Opening it, he stared at the unfamiliar writing.
"If you'd like to see your wife alive," he read, "come to the old church tomorrow at dawn. Any earlier and we will kill her. If you bring anyone with you, we will kill her."
Mrs. Whiting gasped in horror. "M'lady has been kidnapped."
Christopher smiled thinly at the note. "It's worse than that, Mrs. Whiting. They didn't ask for ransom. They don't plan on her coming back." He stalked into his study, closing the door behind him.
The light of dawn saw him sitting upon his horse at the entrance of the old church. He waited impatiently, knowing that sitting in the open as he was could get him killed, but he had no choice. The old wooden door opened, squeaking loudly on its rusted hinges. A hand beckoned him forward and he dismounted from his horse, feeling his burned leg buckle slightly under him He grabbed the saddle to keep himself upright and found his balance then walked toward the building.
Inside the church was dim, dirt and leaves on the floor as well as a healthy scattering of snow. He waited a moment, giving his eyes a chance to adjust before stepping further.
"Christopher, it's a trap." Danielle's voice was almost shrill in her panic. He'd come when she'd prayed that he wouldn't, that he would forget about her. "They plan to kill you." A sob caught in her throat.
He saw her, standing close to the altar, a dueling pistol held to her side. Her arms were behind her and she was shivering in the cold air of the church. Holding her arm tightly was her stepmother, a grim smile upon her face as she studied her stepson-in-law.
"Good morning, my Lord," she said sarcastically.
"Let her go and we can work something out between us."
Constance threw her head back, laughing shrilly. "Why should we let her go? When your body is found, Danielle will be a beautiful widow, brought back to live in the bosom of her family, to mourn your loss. In a month or so, David will announce their engagement and then he'll have control of your property, my Lord."
Christopher opened his mouth to speak and felt the bore of another pistol press against the heavy leather of his mask over his temple. "Don't move, my Lord." David spoke softly, his words for Christopher alone. "Tonight, when you will be slowly turning cold on the bare ground out here, I will be between your wife's thighs teaching her the way to properly please her husband. I'll use her, her mouth, that plump mound between those beautiful thighs, her firm, round ass, in every way I can think of. And when she comes, she won't be calling your name, she'll be screaming mine."
Christopher felt every single word David spoke in his gut, feeling it twist and fester until sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to stay calm. "There's only one problem with your plan. Danielle is not my heir."
The word that came from David's mouth was foul and made his mother flinch. "What do you mean? She has to be your heir, she's your wife."
His eyes met the frightened ones of his wife and he tried to reassure her. She gave him a tremulous smile, standing a little taller.
"I've never changed my will, David. My estate, including my title, goes to my nephew if I were to die. He would take care of Danielle, she would never want for anything, but that privilege wouldn't be extended to her family." Christopher turned, feeling the barrel of the gun rub against his mask, and looked into David's crazed gaze. "Kill me, and you are still in the same boat as before. Money gone, creditors at your heels. And from what I have been informed, you haven't paid off a few wagers that you've made. You have some very unsavory people looking for you."
David tried to stare him down, not wanting to believe that all his planning and scheming was for naught. There had to be something he missed. Desperation clawed at his stomach, his rage blurred his vision, making him see red.
"No!" he shouted, his finger tightening on the trigger. The gun exploded with a huge report, startling both women. Danielle watched as Christopher was flung backwards, landing on his back on the dirt covered floor. It seemed unreal, and then the horror of the moment caught her, a scream welling in her throat. She turned on Constance, grabbing the pistol in her hands, fighting with her for it. It went off and she felt the heat of the gunpowder and watched for only a moment as her stepmother was flung backwards.
Then she was running to her husband's side.
"No," she moaned, falling to her knees next to him, her hands shaking as she reached for his dear face. "No, Christopher, don't leave me. Oh, God. I love you, Christopher." She touched his skin, feeling the warmth that it still held, willing him to open his eyes. "I love you," she sobbed, feeling her heart breaking.
David grabbed her around the waist, lifting her away from her husband. She turned and fought him, scratching and biting, kicking at his shins while he tried to hold her. She tore his flesh with her nails, leaving bloody furrows in his face.
"Why, you little bitch." He slapped her, knocking her off her feet and to the ground.
A growl, low and dangerous, was heard from behind him, and he turned, startled. A fist met his jaw, another following quickly into his stomach. He collapsed, unconscious, before he hit the ground.
Hands touched Danielle's waist and she turned, ready to fight once more. She wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted her, staring up into the loving brown eyes of her husband as he helped her off the ground.
"How...But you were dead?" she asked hesitatingly, her hands once more touching his beloved face.
He shook his head, turning it to the side to show her the black mark and tear in the thick leather of his mask. "I never thought I'd be glad to be wearing this. His rage shook his aim and the mask took the brunt of the blow." He grinned at her. "I'm feeling a little like I had to much to drink but otherwise, love, I'm fine."
She pulled his head down to her, finding his mouth with her own in a kiss of passion, the love she felt for him, the pain she had gone through when she thought him dead combining to fuel the flames that were never far from the surface between them. He groaned into her mouth as her tongue plundered his, stroking against his, driving him mad with need.
"Well, it looks like we weren't needed after all."
The voice broke them apart, though Christopher refused to let her out of his arms. They watched as David was carried out of the church, his mother Constance, brought around, the shot of the pistol having gone into her shoulder. She was carted off to a doctor and then to the jail, where she would wait with her son to see the magistrate.
Christopher rode home slowly, Danielle seated across his lap, her head on his shoulder. They reached their home, a ecstatic Mrs. Whiting scurrying Danielle away to bathe. She was sitting in front of the fire in his bedchamber, drying her long hair in its warmth when he entered the room.
She rose and went to him, her nimble fingers unbuckling the straps of his mask to take it from him. Her fingers smoothed over his forehead, combed through his thick hair. Besides a bruise and a small bump, he was uninjured.
She sighed her relief and planted a tender kiss upon his injured brow, pushing his hair back from his face with a tender hand. "I was so scared, Christopher. I thought I had lost you."
He sat down in the chair in front of the fire, pulling her down in his lap. "You'll never lose me, love. Don't you know I'd go through any hell for you?"
"You walked in there knowing it was a trap." The words were an accusation.
"It was the only way to get you back. I had no choice." He kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes, then pulled her closer, resting his head on the top of her still slightly damp hair. "I couldn't live without you, Danielle."
"Then we are in agreement."
He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. "What do you mean, my love?" His heart raced with hope.
"I couldn't live without you, either, Christopher. I was ready to die today when I thought you were dead. I would have taken David with me, though." She laughed ruefully, remembering the crazed look in her stepbrother's eyes.
He stroked the hair from her face, his hands lingering on her skin, his eyes searching hers. "Danielle..."
She smiled, finding it a simple thing, after all the worrying she'd done, to just say what she felt. "I love you, Christopher."
"I love you, too, my wife.
And joy filled him, that on this first of their many Christmases together, he had been given this most perfect gift from her. A gift that he would treasure and cherish, a gift he would never take for granted.
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